


I don't do drugs but you'll think I do by the end

by Eve6262



Category: Original Work
Genre: But both apply, From happy times and sunny days, I do enough of that myself thank you very much, I'm not okay probably, My mind is. Not okay, Neither are my titles, No Fandom - Freeform, Original Works - Freeform, Other, Pretty much every chapter could have literally anything, Those aren't actually connected, To depression and metaphorical torture scenes, also don't judge my titles, why am i putting this in the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eve6262/pseuds/Eve6262
Summary: don't worry.....I don't do drugsI think





	1. maik clam yuor titites

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pwyhATKvChg  
‘s title  
And kind of inspired this

anyways hAvE fUn! <3 not I’m a dik

\--  
“You need help.”  
“You’re crazy.”  
“You should go to a therapist.”  
Apathy didn’t care. Chronophobia wondered how long this would take, pain burying itself in every crevice of a calm facade. Sociopathy scowled and snarled back at them.  
Anxiety thought they’d hate hate HATE them, yes, yes they had to go didn’t they, yes, that’s why they were here.  
It kept listening. It kept listening even as the person listed off such nasty things about them because that was accurate, wasn’t it?  
Apathy didn’t particularly care, but figured everyone would be a bit less annoying if it answered, so it said yes and left it at that. Chronophobia said it was a waste of time, didn’t they already know that? Sociopathy said it wasn’t a bad thing, it let them survive in a heartless world didn’t it?  
Anxiety didn’t listen to Sociopathy.  
It kept listening as that person explained the treatment. It hurriedly agreed.  
Sociopathy didn’t like this. Anxiety was too quick to agree, it thought.  
Apathy didn’t care.  
Chronophobia stared at the clock with unexpressed fear.  
Anxiety listened even as that person berated them.  
Berated and berated, on and on, Kept telling them Sociopathy was a curse, but there was a cure, a spell to rid them of the curse.  
Apathy didn’t care, but thought Sociopathy was annoying.  
Anxiety listened intently.  
Chronophobia soon realized this would keep going.  
All three stared at it.  
All three pushed it.  
It fell behind.  
Berated and berated, on and on. Kept telling them Apathy was a curse, but there was a cure, a spell to rid them of the curse.  
Anxiety listened intently.  
Chronophobia realized this would keep going.  
All two stared at it.  
All two pushed it.  
It fell behind.  
Berated and berated, on and on. Kept telling them Chronophobia was a curse, but there was a cure, a spell to rid them of the curse.  
Anxiety listened  
All one stared at it.  
All one pushed it.  
It fell behind.  
Berated and berated, on and on. Kept telling them Anxiety was a curse, but there was a cure, a spell to rid them of the curse.  
No one listened.  
No one stared at it.  
No one pushed it.  
It fell behind.  
“See? You’re okay now.”  
No one looked back.  
No one saw someone there, past the shaking and frightened Anxiety.  
No one saw someone there, past the seemingly still yet slowly deteriorating Chronophobia.  
No one saw someone there, past the almost dazed Apathy.  
No one saw someone there, past the angered and betrayed Sociopathy.  
No one saw Someone there.  
No one went to Someone.  
Someone was someone.  
No one was no one.  
No one asked someone why they wouldn’t come back.  
Someone said no one betrayed them.  
Sociopathy joined someone, because even though no one had betrayed them like they answered, that didn’t matter.  
No one asked someone why they wouldn’t come back.  
Someone said no one mattered.  
Apathy joined someone, because even though there was no reason for them to lose emotion, that didn’t matter.  
No one asked someone why they wouldn’t come back.  
Someone said no one wasted time.  
Chronophobia came back, because even though there was plenty of time, that didn’t matter.  
No one asked someone why they wouldn’t come back.  
Someone said no one hated them.  
Anxiety joined, because even though no one truly hated them for a single stumble, that didn’t matter.  
So no one left.  
And No one went on to live.  
Because Someone was left behind.

“You’re really boring.”  
“Your grades have dropped significantly.”  
“You have nothing to say.”  
“You can’t do anything.”  
“Why?”

And no one went on to live.  
Because someone was left behind.

\--

 

these should go in notes but that doesn't actually work properly until you have multiple chapters so this'll have to wait

 

but yes I swear I don't do drugs don't sue me

 

~Eve6262


	2. wait nvmd it's just my delusional sneezing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seriously WHAT are my chapter titles

    The day felt normal to start, as it always did. No symptoms of anything; no irregular heartbeat, no coughing fit, no asthma to speak of. A sneeze or two, maybe, and a permanent shiver. She would get dressed for school, as she always did, put on her cold mask, brush and set her hair into twin ponytails, and pick up her bag on the way out.

She didn’t eat breakfast. She knew it would all come back up if she did. That’s how this sickness always went.

A sickness of delusion, she thought; yet a sickness of reality. It was confusing; so was the diagnosis. She’d be fine with a terminal illness; it wasn’t like her frequent hospital trips were an indication of health. She was destined to be sick, it seemed; even so, why couldn’t they figure it out? That was what she wished the question was, anyways.

That glitter in their eyes, the “but I have a good idea of what it probably is,” the way everyone else called her “sick” but nothing else always had some deeper meaning, but she didn’t get it.

Sure, she was sick. She could accept that; she always knew that, even since childhood. Yet at this point, it felt like the whole world was sick. Sick with some kind of delusion; and she was sick, too, but not with the same strain. Somehow they knew that; somehow they could identify it, but they didn’t understand their own sickness.

When she entered the building, it started as it always did. She figured it was the close proximity to the other strain that held her lungs captive; it felt like a type of asthma, always. Invisible roots clung to her lungs; they were in full bloom, apparently, and caused her to hack and cough her way to class.

It seemed another girl in class held a different strain, one that didn’t bother the others as much but affected her badly, because when she entered class, her long black hair moving idly by her figure and her almost black eyes sharp yet compassionate, she could feel an irregular heartbeat set in. Perhaps it was a few different viruses or cells, she reasons, and they all reacted in different ways.

That was it. That girl held some other type of sickness; she didn’t bother telling her. She wouldn’t believe her; no one would, not now, not ever.

Not that she could. Whenever she got close, some kind of bacteria, maybe a parasite, bit down on her muscles, kept her locked in place. Whenever that girl came close and started talking, what was definitely a parasite started talking for her, sounding much more an idiot than herself. Not once did it mention the sickness; maybe that was its plan. Maybe it wanted to infect the whole world, and she was only its host.

She didn’t really care. Even as she filled out another form, filled to the brim with symptoms and theories, she only filed it away, not bothering to share. No one cared; no one could see what she saw, anyhow.

The whole world was sick, really, with delusion. Definitely a mental sickness, she thought. A delusion that made them think this irregular heartbeat was normal; made them think this sudden asthma was normal; made them think sudden coughing fits were the norm.

Maybe it was that parasite, but that wouldn’t make sense because it never had a chance to leave, or she’d be dead from how large it had to be, to envelop and control her brain so specifically like that. No, it probably just spread around the strain via cough after cough; that, she thought, was where her indifference ended and her appreciation started.

Every time someone coughed; every time someone sneezed; they all connected the world more than the internet or a famous speaker. The world was connected, it seemed, by sickness more than anything else. Take outbreaks for instance; never was a disease contained in one area successfully. Someone always brought it out of country, or out of state, or even out of city; disease always connects those people, for better or for worse.

It was this thought that led her to keep quiet about her observations; she simply kept them in her schoolbag, switching them out for the Japanese notebook they never used, in favor of using school supplied computers daily. She wrote down all the symptoms; the daydreams (and actual dreams) that left her feeling like she could remember that girl being there; it was only later, when she laid eyes upon the girl, that she remembered her dreams.

A dream disorder, too? How strange, the range of diseases that plagued mankind, and as a result herself. How strange, what they considered normal that to any other species would be a disaster as big as the Black Plague or Smallpox. They called the abnormal heart palpitations of diabetes a dangerous symptom, yet when it happened to a small, sickly girl, they paid it no mind.

She looked back to that girl, and for but a moment she thought she saw a heart drawn in her notebook.

Was this love?

...Nah, couldn’t be. The symptoms were too everywhere, too common, too widespread for that.

Even if love were that common, if love were such a normal thing; no, she thought, it was so common, and it was so normal. But all its symptoms, all its effects, everything it caused rendered it a disease, she thought. A disease capable of acting like a parasite in some places, a bacteria in others, a virus in yet more areas. 

Strange as it was, and as little a researcher as she was, she wanted to know more about this disease.

Specifically, the girl’s and her own strains.

Nothing else mattered because, well, everyone had their different strains.

It was who reacted with yours that mattered. 


End file.
